


Melted

by robotboy



Series: Butterscotch [11]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deaf Character, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-02-07 09:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18617659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/pseuds/robotboy
Summary: Five times Thomas Hamilton touched John Silver, and one time John Silver touched Thomas Hamilton.





	1. Chapter 1

The first touch is on the second night. The four of them snug around the dining table with two family-sized pizzas. Thomas nudges his chair back and his bare foot bumps Silver’s left shin. Puzzlement crosses Thomas’ face as he apologises.

_I’m just happy to see you_ , Silver quips.

Thomas laughs hesitantly. Silver gives him an easy smile. Maybe the flirtation was too much, but then Thomas glances beneath the table.

_You didn’t tell him?_ Silver asks Flint. Flint frowns in confusion, so Silver rolls up the cuff of his pants to show Thomas the prosthetic.

Flint goes pale. _I didn’t tell him._

Silver bursts out laughing, and Miranda’s smirking like she’s struggling not to do the same.

_I’ve had other things on my mind!_ Flint says defensively.

_I’m sorry if I jostled it,_ Thomas says. His ears are slightly red.

_It’s fine,_ Silver assures him. _Best choice of leg to kick, really._

That turns Thomas’ ears redder. Something in Silver’s stomach squirms, but it might just be that last slice of pizza.

*

Silver is getting into bed when Flint announces: _I wanted to ask you something._

_Shoot,_ Silver pulls the blankets aside for Flint to get in.

_And be honest,_ Flint insists. _Even if you don’t think I’ll like the answer._

Silver gives him a wary look, and Flint sighs.

_If I were to kiss Thomas,_ Flint says. _How would it make you feel?_

Silver pauses. _What, in front of me?_

_Would you prefer it to be in front of you?_

Silver shrugs. _I don’t mind, really. You’ve kissed him before._

_Well, yes,_ Flint says. _But that was a long time ago._

_You kissed him again in New Mexico, though…?_ Silver frowns.

_No,_ Flint says. _I didn’t know if y—_

Silver throws a pillow at him. _You mean you haven’t kissed him since you rescued him?!_

_What I was_ ** _going_** _to say,_ Flint flings the pillow back. _Is that I didn’t know if that would make you uncomfortable._

_You staged a daring escape from a secret cult in the dead of the night_ ** _and you didn’t even kiss?!_** Silver tugs his own hair in frustration. _Not at all?_

_He kissed my head…_ Flint says.

Silver slumps back on the pillow. _He kissed your_ ** _head._**

_I said I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want to do,_ Flint reminds him.

_Well, for future reference, since it needs to be said,_ Silver rolls his eyes. _Automatic hall pass for reuniting with your long-lost lover._

_We are_ ** _not_** _calling things ‘hall passes,’_ Flint scowls.

_You’re lucky I don’t kick you out of the bed and_ ** _make_** _you go kiss him right now,_ Silver raises his eyebrows.

_I told you to think about it,_ Flint says. _Be serious._

_And I told you,_ Silver says. _I’m not a jealous person._

_That was a very different conversation,_ Flint tilts his head. _One we had before you assumed I was going to completely replace you with Thomas._

_Okay, fair,_ Silver says. _But I don’t mind if you kiss him. I think you should._

_If it does bother you,_ Flint says. _You_ ** _promise_** _you’ll tell me?_

_I promise,_ Silver holds up a hand.

_You won’t fuck off to Iceland or something,_ Flint’s mouth quirks.

_I will_ ** _not_** _fuck off to Iceland,_ Silver elbows him.

_You’ll_ ** _tell me how you feel,_** Flint insists.

_Right now? Exasperated,_ Silver says. _If you kissed him? Curious, I guess. Maybe I’ll be jealous if he’s a better kisser._

Flint sighs.

_Why don’t you kiss him, and we find out?_ Silver suggests.

_What, now?_

_Not now,_ Silver pulls Flint closer. _I’m comfy. Tomorrow, or something._

Silver puts the pillow back under his head. He frowns.

_If you haven’t even kissed him,_ Silver says. _Is it weird that I flirted with him?_

_I don’t think I could stop you flirting,_ Flint chuckles. _You flirt in your sleep._

_Very funny._

_You do._

_What?_ Silver grins. _How do I flirt in my sleep?_

_Like Pepe le Pew,_ Flint pulls Silver’s arm between them and starts kissing from wrist to elbow.

_Oh my god,_ Silver squirms away. _Well I’m going to sleep, and apparently I’m going to kiss you all night, and then you can try kissing Thomas in the morning when you’re covered in my drool._

_*_

(Flint doesn’t intend to rush into it, after that. Quite the opposite: the sun’s barely in the sky when he finishes his morning run, and he’s thinking about nothing except having a shower. Then Thomas is there at the end of the hall, like a fucking apparition.

Flint gapes for a second as Thomas emerges from the guest bedroom. He’s bleary—never was a morning person, Flint remembers—and takes a second to orient himself before recognising Flint standing in the hallway.

Flint must be flushed: he’s panting, his heart pounding from the run. The run, and the surprise. Thomas gives him a friendly wave and darts into the bathroom ahead of Flint, since Flint is doing nothing except standing there like an idiot in running shorts. His breath keeps coming hard as Thomas re-emerges.

_Still here,_ Thomas smiles, and for a moment Flint can’t tell if it’s a question or a reassurance.

_I want to kiss you,_ the words spill out of Flint before he can think them through.

Thomas is three steps away, and then none, and then everything is the scratch of Thomas’ beard and the fullness of his lips. And Flint had forgotten how Thomas would tilt his head to fit them together, how his thumb would trace along Flint’s jaw while his fingertips cupped Flint’s neck. He maps Thomas’ face by touch: the crinkling crow’s feet, the hollow of his cheek under the beard, the fragile skin of his throat. The taste of his mouth: stale from sleep, the lingering hint of toothpaste from last night.

Flint’s heart hasn’t stopped thundering. Thomas nuzzles him when they break for air, and Flint chases him for a last brush of their lips. Thomas grants it with a little huff of surprise: only then does Flint recall it’s a habit of Silver’s, to steal one more. Well. Thomas seems to enjoy it.

After the shower, Flint dives back into bed, and Silver reels him in like a three-and-a-half-limbed octopus. Silver cracks one eye open, searching Flint’s face. Whatever he finds there makes him smirk.

_That was quick,_ Silver comments. Flint is going to ask how he knew, but Silver’s finger traces his lower lip. It’s still sensitive enough to make Flint shiver.

_Coffee?_ Silver asks.

Flint suspects his heart is never going to slow down.)


	2. Chapter 2

The second touch happens on the beach. They’re out on a walk, enjoying Miranda’s last day before her belated return to Rochester. Thomas is staying here, it’s been decided, at least until he’s found his feet (Silver restrains himself from making any jokes about that particular metaphor). After some discussion, Miranda and Thomas had decreed that while the marriage will be useful in organising Thomas’ paperwork, the relationship will remain as open as it ever was. Miranda has every intention of pursuing her newer romantic endeavours, and what Thomas is ready to do is entirely up to Thomas.

Thomas is outdoorsy, which Silver supposes is only fair after years of confinement. Silver’s not _against_ the outdoors per se, but chatting while navigating the rocky shore has never been his forte. Silver lets the other three carry the conversation: Miranda is sharing an anecdote about taking Flint to a conference in DC where he’d threatened a guest with fisticuffs. Busy looking where he’s going, Silver misses the nature of the offence, but he can tell from Flint’s face that it was a terrible one. They launch off on a tangent and Silver keeps himself focused on the ground.

A hand comes to rest on his upper arm. Thomas keeps it there while Silver looks up.

 _When’s your birthday?_ Thomas asks, slowing until they fall into step together.

 _May,_ Silver tells him.

 _Soon,_ Thomas smiles.

 _The 25th,_ Silver shrugs. _Why?_

 _We were talking about gifts,_ Thomas says. _Flint said you got him a travel mug for his birthday._

 ** _And_** _some coffee,_ Silver says. _A fancy roast._

He doesn’t add: _It’s a thing._ He’s being too defensive.

Miranda and Flint are marching ahead: from what Silver can see over their shoulders, they’re back to arguing about the conference. Thomas seems happy enough at Silver’s pace: he can always look at the ocean when Silver’s not talking. It’s what Thomas does, sometimes: he’s easily distracted, staring off into the distance for a spell before returning to himself. It doesn’t seem to be distress, as far as Silver can see. Just a need to slow down and navigate the terrain—like Silver is doing now.

 _He’s just the same_ , Thomas rolls his eyes at Flint’s back. _Still a righteous bastard._

Silver barks out a laugh. Flint doesn’t look back.

 _Is anything different about him?_ Silver has to ask.

 _The beard,_ Thomas says. He gestures on his own chin where Flint’s grey streak is, eyes shining appreciatively. _And he wears such tight jeans._

_He didn’t used to?_

_It wasn’t the style back then. He had longer hair when I met him, but he cut it short once we started doing publicity._

_How long was it?_

Thomas signals past his shoulders; Silver grins.

 _Have you seen a picture?_ Thomas asks.

_Not with long hair, I don’t think._

_Maybe he’s embarrassed,_ Thomas says. _I bet Miranda still has a few of them, though._

 _Is that it?_ Silver asks. _New hair, new clothes?_

Thomas shakes his head, smiling. _All sorts of things, I suppose. He’s harder at the edges. More forthright in what he wants. I imagine he’s acting differently with me here, though._

Silver nods slowly. _Not in a bad way._

They both look at Flint’s back, and Silver catches Flint tilting his head, stealing a surreptitious glance in their direction. Silver checks and sees Thomas realise at the same moment: Flint and Miranda have rushed ahead on purpose, leaving them to chat.

Silver charges at Flint’s back and slams into it, arms going over Flint’s shoulders. Flint takes the impact in his stride, lifting Silver off his feet for a moment and turning before setting him back down, laughing.

 _He’s right,_ Silver says, dropping off Flint’s shoulders. _You_ ** _are_** _a bastard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High five to the Discworld fans out there ;)


	3. Chapter 3

The third—it can’t be the third, there’s surely been more, but it’s the third time Silver _remembers._

Thomas visits Queens almost every day. He arrives in the late morning, and stays for a few hours reading on his phone, people-watching, and eating a pastry. In a rare bout of patriotism, Silver has cultivated Thomas’ appreciation of flat whites. Madi usually insists on serving them, practicing her ASL with him whenever she can. The two of them like each other instantly, which Silver suspects can only lead to mischief.

On quieter days, there’s time for Silver to swing by Thomas’ table and collect his cup. He tries not to interrupt Thomas’ reading as he reaches out. But Thomas’ fingers brush his wrist, trailing lightly over his skin. Silver lowers the cup back onto the table.

 _A little longer._ Only then does Thomas look up. Silver meets his eyes and feels himself turn bright red. His palm stays upturned, tingling from where Thomas’ fingertips traced over it. He resists the urge to repeat the motion with his thumb, to soothe the electric feeling left behind.

There’s barely a drop of coffee left in the cup. It must be stone cold by now. Silver raises his eyebrows, hoping the late spring heat will cover how flushed he is.

 _Can I get you a hot chocolate instead?_ he offers.

Thomas’ smiles are warm, and they break over his entire face. But sometimes he gets a twinkle in his eye, and a quirk to his mouth, that make him look nothing like a sheltered schoolteacher.

This is one of those times. Silver is at fucking _work._

 _Please,_ Thomas says, as if they’re still talking about hot chocolate.


	4. Chapter 4

There are a hundred touches between the last time and this one, but now Silver thinks of them as the important ones. The ones where something changes, whether he can name that _something_ or not.

So: the next one happens on the couch. They’re sprawled out watching a spectacularly terrible science fiction movie. Thomas is stretched along the chaise, while Flint is tucked in the crook of Silver’s right arm. A blanket has started falling from the back of the couch onto Silver’s left side, balancing the warmth of Flint’s body. Ink is curled up in a tiny ball between Thomas’ thigh and Flint’s feet. Silver suspects if Flint so much as wiggles a toe, Ink will spontaneously be awake enough to savage it.

Flint is getting heavier and heavier, sinking in on himself as he drifts asleep. Silver sighs, only half watching the film. He unlocked his leg two hours ago, and it’s lying somewhere under the coffee table now. The idea of being carried to bed instead of putting it back on is starting to gain serious appeal.

Silver reaches for the popcorn, which has been cold for an hour. The butter is slick and salty on his lips, and he ends up gracelessly licking the smaller pieces from his palm so they don’t fall on the couch. He’s mostly focused on keeping track of the popcorn when Thomas’ hand appears in his peripheral vision. Silver turns just as Thomas catches one of his curls. They’ve tumbled into Flint’s face, Silver realises, and as Thomas lifts them out of the way, Flint snuffles. Silver peers down to see Flint’s golden eyelashes fluttering, watching Thomas pull back the accidental curtain of Silver’s hair. Silver feels a thrum deep in Flint’s chest: a pleasant buzzing at waking up to Thomas, real and alive and well, on the couch with them. Flint’s fingertips squeeze gently where they’re resting on Silver’s thigh. Silver kisses the top of Flint’s forehead in return, and Flint nuzzles into Silver’s shoulder. Silver can tell he’s stealing glances at Thomas. Thomas hasn’t let go of Silver’s hair: a lock of it is twisted loosely around Thomas’ finger.

Silver licks the butter from his lips, gaze drifting from Flint to Thomas. Thomas lets go of the curl, allowing it to spill from his palm. He hasn’t looked away from Silver’s face. And Silver gets as far as thinking _are we going to_ —when Flint twitches between them, hissing sharply. He picks Ink up by the scruff of her neck, pulling his feet away as she swipes her claws. When he sets her down on the chaise with Thomas, she looks only somewhat chastened.

 _There’s a foot with no nerve endings under the coffee table,_ Silver tells her. _It’s all yours._

Thomas bursts into laughter, but Ink’s not so easily impressed.


	5. Chapter 5

The next touch is, apart from all the other things it is, unavoidable. Silver opens the bathroom door and crashes into Thomas. He’s focused on getting the crutch under himself, keeping his centre of gravity low as Thomas pirouettes around him. The hall isn’t wide enough for them to dodge each other, so Thomas uses their momentum to steady Silver and pivot around him, his hands landing on Silver’s middle.

Only then does Silver realise how low he slung the towel around his hips. Thomas’ fingers span his waist in a way he can’t ignore. It’s a light, pragmatic touch, but it floods Silver with immediate and mortifying warmth. It’s over before he can process it, and he’s found his balance but lost all his equilibrium. His world narrows into long, trailing fingers on his skin, the swift dance he and Thomas have done without any rehearsal. Thomas’ smile flashes for an instant before they move, not a word exchanged, to their respective bedrooms. Silver might as well be walking on the ceiling.

Flint looks up, and something must show in Silver’s expression.

 _I think I’m into Thomas,_ Silver confesses, still bewildered.

The grin that breaks across Flint’s face starts out wicked, but it becomes an irresistible glow, a breathless laugh, and Flint is pulling Silver into his arms, peppering him with kisses between telling him _I know, I know you are, I knew you would be, I knew it._


	6. Chapter 6

Everything happens in May. The days turn deceptively mild, with bursts of sun and warmth that have Silver peeling off layers in the café and Madi thumping the air conditioner until Scott agrees to call a repairman. Thomas gets hay fever (and a therapist), startling Silver and Ink with sneezes that shake the house (probably the therapist’s office, too).

Flint, after a particularly sweaty day, shaves his hair off. Silver is _bereft_ and grieves for hours. He is eventually consoled by Flint’s promise that he can touch the rusty-velvet fuzz whenever he pleases: Flint regularly shoves himself against Silver’s palm, seeking prickly against-the-grain rubs from Silver.

 _It’ll be back by next year,_ Flint promises, like next year isn’t so far away at all. A year ago, Silver was uselessly flirting with a hot redhead in the wrong language.

Because, Silver remembers, their anniversary falls in May. Flint packs them a picnic and Silver makes cold brew, and they brave the hiking trail up into the hills. The city hugs the coast below them, as neat and small as a toy town. The sea is ruffled with white caps that glare in the sun. They try to spot the wharf, the university, the museum, and guess the block where the townhouse must be. Flint opens a bottle of chilled wine and Silver sprawls corpse-like on the blanket. There is cheese; there is meat; there is a lazy and prolonged make-out session that almost ends in public indecency but actually ends with a nap and some brand new freckles on Flint’s cheeks when they awaken.

Everything was easy last summer, and this summer it‘s going to be complicated. Except it isn’t, Silver keeps finding, as every day gets longer without any cartoon anvils falling on his head. No rivalry emerges, no secrets are kept, no attention or affection feels stolen. Silver’s biggest problems are getting his bard out of jail in Kofi’s campaign; Thomas’ quasi-religious commitment to marathoning crime thrillers; and Flint’s buzzcut.

Compared to those, Silver being desperately attracted to Thomas is only a minor problem. Not even the top three. It’s only in the top five because the weather’s not _too_ hot. Problem number four is the fact that when Thomas gets up for midnight snacks he is _so fucking loud._

(Silver had asked, after a while, why Flint never slept the night after visiting Thomas’ room.

 _Thomas,_ Flint had explained, _fundamentally lacks the ability to go to bed before midnight, lie still, and remain asleep for seven hours. There are a great many things in bed he’s fantastic at. Sleeping is not one of them._

 _Any reason?_ Silver asked.

_He claims he is descended from night watchmen._

_Is he?_

_To my knowledge, he’s only descended from evangelical Tories._

And Silver had enthusiastically obliged Flint with his second round of sex, because Thomas’ appalling sleep hygiene was _not_ the most interesting part of that conversation.)

Silver curses to himself and clambers out of bed, grabbing his crutch as he goes. He hobbles downstairs. Thomas is silhouetted by the fridge, which had started to beep urgently while Silver was getting up. Silver flicks the lights on and Thomas gives a start. He rises out of his stoop and blinks at Silver. Silver’s gripe about Thomas choosing the crinkliest food in the kitchen is steamrolled by everything that Thomas’ pyjama shorts fail to hide. He has to stop himself asking if Thomas is sure he spent ten years teaching the alphabet, not chopping wood and doing crunches. He thinks, vaguely, that Flint was right about needing to meet the man to realise how truly ridiculous he is.

 _Sorry,_ Thomas closes the fridge. _Did I wake you?_

Silver nods blearily. _It’s alright,_ he says, despite the fact that he’s clearly come skulking downstairs for no other reason.

 _Want something?_ Thomas offers, opening the pantry instead. It’s returned to its usual mess since Silver’s cleaning crisis, which Silver chooses to see as personal growth. Thomas produces a block of chocolate and puts it on the table.

If Silver doesn’t say yes, there’s no other excuse for coming down. Anyway, it’s proper English chocolate, so he’s not going to say no.

Excuses. All he keeps thinking of is excuses.

Another one: Thomas’ mouth will taste terrible once it’s full of chocolate.

Silver closes the distance between them, and keeps going until Thomas is backed up against the counter. Their faces are so close, there’s no question of Silver’s intentions. Thomas’ expression isn’t desire, exactly, which gives Silver a fucking heart attack. It’s solemn, for a moment, looking right through Silver in a way Silver has never liked before, not until—until Silver brings their mouths together.

One of Thomas’ hands finds Silver’s shoulder, a firm grip that assures Silver the kiss is welcome. The other is still on the counter, leaving space for Silver to withdraw. But Silver doesn’t. Thomas’ lips are as soft as they have looked, full and willing to open when Silver slips his tongue in. The kiss immediately heats, Thomas’ hand weaving into Silver’s curls, angling Silver’s head so Thomas can press his tongue against Silver’s.

Silver is immeasurably glad that it’s happening, that it’s better than he (has vividly, frequently) imagined, and that it doesn’t taste like half-melted chocolate.

When they part, Silver rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, as though he can keep the sensation printed into his skin. He sways, his body suddenly remembering it’s three in the morning. Thomas steadies his arm, and Silver leans into his space to feel the warmth radiating from him. Thomas’ touch trails over his his shoulder, tickling a little along his throat to lift his chin. Silver blinks and smiles, thick and slow and sweet. Thomas’ eyes twinkle, tracing Silver’s face.

It’s like a dream. He almost believes it was one, until he comes down for breakfast in the morning to find the block of chocolate on the table.


End file.
